The Calls are Coming from Inside the (M)ouse / Of Mice and Man
Dixie National Forest
East Fork Sevier River, Utah; October 12-13 2017
“But down through the centuries, man has developed a mind that separates him from the world of reality, the world of natural laws. This mind tries too hard, wears itself out, and ends up weak and sloppy…It goes here and there, backwards and forwards, and fails to concentrate on what it’s doing at the moment.”
~Benjamin Hoff, The Tao of Pooh
Moab Desert
Willow Springs Rd, Utah; October 14-15, 2017
My love,
I hope you never have to read this letter. That our paradise will return, and we can continue on with life as planned. It seemed so bright before, didn’t it? Just within reach. But, as I sit here now and feel the emptiness eat away at my stomach, I can no longer say with certainty that “it will work itself out.” That “everything will be fine.” You know I’m not much for words, especially when they betray my confidence and admit defeat. I’m a desperate louse at this point, though, and I feel I have no choice but to tell you what’s scrambling around between my ears. To share the weight that hangs on my heart before tragedy strikes our nest. Maybe it won’t come to that—I squeak that our fortune will turn—but I fear we are moving further from the utopia we wanted for our family. I’m running wild for a solution, but I’m only finding myself running out of hope with every stop on this landslide.
“Look after her.” Your father’s words haunt me. They echo every time I come back home empty-pawed after a night of unsuccessful searching. It seems like yesterday I noticed you chasing through the tall grass of our stomping grounds, your ears tucked back in your carefree way. It didn’t matter what threats were lurking, you knew you could beat your fastest rival. Of course, your family squealed that you were being reckless, crying for you to slow down and be more careful. They saw too many of your siblings get carried away in the jaws of a feeder. It didn’t matter to you, though. Life was meant to be lived, and you lived it.
You ran circles around me, at first. I kept trying to get you to stop, waiting outside your family’s nest only to see you bolt out like lightning and glide along the earth like a fast-moving stream. I had no choice: I followed. Lucky for me, you did finally stop. I remember catching up to you that fateful day, finding you alone on “your” rock—the one with the best view. The sun was shining on your chestnut fur as you stood watching the valley sway with the wind. Your body moved with the trees that you towered over (from that vantage point, at least). You were radiant, an unparalleled vision.
I was so nervous to interrupt, afraid that if I squeaked out, you’d chase away again, leaving me with just the memory of your beautiful pause. When I did mouster the courage to stand beside you, your eyes spoke first, offering a gentle welcome before turning back to the setting sun. It was gorgeous, but I couldn’t keep my attention off you. Remember, I had mostly seen you as a blur or from a distance till that moment. Up close, you took my breath away. As you focused on the dimming light, I watched the expression on your face turn from bright to solemn. Your resolve shrank away as the shadows crept in. Something deep within was stirring, and I vowed, then and there, to give you everything you needed to keep that shine sparkling day and night.
You taught me so much as our tails intertwined. The speed at which you shared your world and allowed me in outmatched your paws’ best effort. Even in the most challenging circumstances—you know, the ones that made me bristle and shriek—I found solid ground because you were with me. You were my rock; you always will be. I’d follow you to the water’s edge and further yet because I believe we are on this special path together.
It should come as no surprise, then, when you caught a whiff of that mouth-watering scent, I was prepared to take action. With you darting along beside me, fear ceased to exist. The feast we discovered was unlike anything my nose, or stomach, could have imagined. All we could have hoped for; beyond our dreams come true. We found our home. Our new life, together. When we went back to your family’s nest to share the news, they wanted to believe us. But what your dad said to me before we left, it really stuck in my fur, especially as our nest came under attack by the savage. If I’m going to slow you down and build a home with you, I better look after you. I play back so many moments when we could have escaped; when we should have abandoned this nest and the monster that is destroying it.
That’s not the point of this letter, though. I haven’t been completely honest with you. Since we began waking up in new worlds, on the nights out, while I was fighting for meager scraps of food, I met the Grim Squeaker. I’ve had visions of death, escaping with my life by just a whisker. I know I didn’t admit it when you asked. You wouldn’t let me hunt alone if I did. But I’ve been too afraid of losing you in the shadows. The threats here (or wherever we are now) are so foreign and shocking. I prefer you stay in the nest where I know the savage can’t catch you and whatever’s lurking outside can’t hurt you. Sometimes, I think by not telling you the truth, I am protecting you, but I know hiding the reality of our situation isn’t helping anymore. I’m struggling to admit it: we’re lost. We may have found our nest, but we are far from home, and I’m not sure we will ever find our way back. Some nights, I’m not sure I will make it back to you and that thought chews away at the rocky ground I crawl on…
I love you, my Speedratter. I’m not sure if it’s the fear, hunger, or guilt that is making my stomach wretch so hard. I’m sorry that I wasn’t able to give you what you deserved: a bright, shining life. If I ever lose my way from our path, I promise I will stop at nothing to find you again, in one form or another.
Forever,
Your Nibbler